Without a Second Thought
by Abyssopelagic
Summary: Bakura will probably never understand why he did what he did. But the day he meets the prince again, he knows he will not make the same mistakes.


_A/N: Well, it seems I really like writing about ancient Egyptian Yu-Gi-Oh! This is my Casteshipping fanfiction for the Yu-Gi-Oh Fanfiction Contest. I had a lot of fun writing it, seeing as I love the characters of Millennium World. I hope you all enjoy the read!_

/

Bakura was going to have to accept it. Despite the faint hopes he had nurtured since his arrival in the city, the Pharaoh was still out of his reach.

He stuffed the second fig in his mouth. The stall owners had starting giving him suspicious looks, so this was all he was getting for now. Irritated that he would have to keep dealing with the hunger pains, Bakura kicked a nearby stone.

"Always hungry in this place," he muttered. City of opportunity, indeed.

Still, Bakura was patient. He would climb a roof, perhaps, to at least catch a glimpse of the Pharaoh and his priests. It would rekindle the revenge in his heart again, to see those undeserving murderers in a position of worship and love.

He would make plans. The gods rewarded those who waited. Just as they punished those who broke their laws.

Bakura's attention snapped back to the city, when a flurry of noise of activity sprung up around him.

"Pharaoh is in the square!"

"The god-king is coming!"

The teenager scowled, slipping away from the crowds and onto a quiet side street. These fools did not know who they really worshipped.

Bakura found a ladder and headed up it, not caring whose house it was. If the roof was occupied he could simply find another house.

He could not kill Pharaoh, but he could live with that for now. These things took time and careful planning, after all.

/

"My prince, this is a _very _bad idea."

"Are you _sure_ we're not going to get caught, Atem?"

The young prince pointedly ignored his two companions, folding his arms over his chest and trying to ignore the feeling of hot sand on his bare feet. In the palace, he wore fine leather sandals.

"Everyone's so distracted by the festival that we have a few hours to ourselves," he said finally, not without irritation. "Plus, this year's an extra good omen, because the lunar calendar is coinciding with Father's birthday. Or something." Atem carefully stepped over a crushed date, looking at the mess with disdain. "Anyway, we're fine."

Mahad was walking stiffly, looking a little like he had eaten something bad. Mana trailed behind him, holding the older boy's hand tightly and looking around in fascination.

"Any good omen will be turned on its ear if you do something this stupid!" He glanced nervously at Atem's wild hair. "You aren't hard to miss."

"What if Mahad's right?" Mana piped up. The youngest of the three, she had been all for this plan. Now that they were away from their caretakers, and alone for one of the first times, she didn't seem so sure. "I know you're not dressed like normal, but..."

The younger boy shrugged. "Exactly. I'm not covered in gold today, am I? Prince Atem isn't a prince for the next few hours!"

Mahad winced. "Not so _loud_." He looked around once. Nobody seemed to be paying them any mind. "There are _so many _bad things that can happen to an unaccompanied royal-"

The young prince turned and glared. "Quiet, Mahad," he hissed. "Honestly, you'll get us found out." Atem picked up his pace, pushing past a crowd of people and motioning for his friends to follow him.

Poor Mahad only stared at him.

"This way is west, toward the river! I remember from my navigation lessons."

Mahad looked like he was about to say something else, but stopped himself, instead tightening his grip on Mana's hand and pulling her along to catch up.

"Besides," Atem called back, "You're accompanying me, right? This is supposed to be fun."

_Fun for whichever thug figures out who you are first_. Mahad sighed, apologizing as best he could to the people they pushed past, and trying to keep the young prince in sight.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

/

The procession would not start for a while yet. So Bakura's attention had been caught by a boy. Not just any boy, from what he was observing.

He was _different _from the others swarming in the Memphis streets. He walked with perfect poise, and even from the rooftop Bakura could tell that he radiated confidence, self-importance. Now that he was out of the crowd, he was speaking in a loud, commanding voice to the two children walking close by him.

That kind of attitude made the young thief seethe. Who was this boy, to think that he could strut through a market like he was invincible? He couldn't have been more than thirteen, if not younger. He must be a noble's son, from one of the country estates. Escaped his family to walk among the commoners, probably.

Bakura folded his arms over his chest. "He's going west," he murmured, eyes still on the child. "Maybe he'll fall in the Nile and the hippos can decide how special he is."

The little girl with him was tugging his tunic now – the boy turned to a stall owner, handing out figs to some younger children. Bakura's stomach growled in spite of himself.

He saw the boy shake his head, and say something to the girl. They left the fruit stall behind.

Bakura found himself climbing back down the rope ladder, jumping back into the street halfway down. Ignoring the odd looks that the people below gave him, he pushed through the crowd, once again catching sight of the little group further ahead.

Maybe they would prove entertaining, while he was waiting for the Pharaoh to ride by.

/

Mana was still pouting, because Atem hadn't let her take a fig.

"Honestly, Mana, they're from a shopkeeper," he'd said, turning up his nose at the fruit and continuing on. "It's peasant food. We'll eat at the celebration tonight."

She'd protested for several minutes more, until the crowds began to thin and Mahad had to work even harder to keep them from being noticed. He already knew people were staring. They might be dressed in peasant clothes, but peasants and the upper classes didn't act the same way. Atem clearly did not belong, and by extension, neither did his companions.

"I'm hungry _now_, prince!" Mana protested, hanging on to Mahad's clothes and sighing dramatically.

Mahad grabbed her hand again, not gently. "Be quiet," he said, a little more harshly than he'd intended. Mana's face fell, and Mahad sighed again, quietly.

"Half an hour at the river," he said to Atem, who was marching too far ahead. "It'll be quiet there, but it's dangerous. Then we have to go back, no buts about it."

The prince grinned, his fingers laced together behind his head. "The gods will protect us, Mahad. Try and enjoy it!"

The guards were probably already frantically searching for the three of them. Pharaoh would lash him, Mahad, for allowing Atem to leave the palace in the first place. And that was only if nothing went wrong.

At least his companions were having fun. There _was _a lot to see outside the palace walls. They didn't often see strangers, and people acted ... freer, outside. There were fewer customs for them to observe. Their every move wasn't being watched.

Of course, Mahad was still struggling to keep a low profile, and act as naturally as the peasants did. If they knew the prince and two apprentices of magic were wandering the streets, the rush to help or harm would be terrifying. And very likely dangerous.

But he couldn't say no to Atem, or drag him back, either. Both scenarios would end just as badly, especially nearer to the river where there were fewer people and they were more likely to be noticed. He just had to try and keep Atem and Mana safe until the prince got bored.

"Atem, Mahad! That boy is looking at us."

Mahad blinked. "What boy?"

Atem paused and turned around, as Mana pointed behind them. A tall, lanky teenager leaned against the wall of a house, his sharp brown eyes on the three. Mahad shot him a black look to match the curiosity on his friends' faces, and quickly led them away.

"Just a street rat," he muttered. "Ignore him. Let's go, Prince."

The young prince struggled to turn around, catching the eyes of the boy once more. The peasant's expression was unchanging. It scared him a little – Atem was unused to such a face. Unmoving and calculated.

Mahad gave him a little push. "Come on, Prince," he said irritably. "We'll go to the river like you requested. Just _move_." This boy seemed to make him even more nervous than this trip had, and that confused Atem even more.

Mahad hustled them down a side street, out of sight of the boy.

Mana wrinkled her nose. "Did you see him, Atem? His hair was greasy! And he was so dirty."

Atem grinned. "When was the last time you think he had a bath?"

"The day he was born!"

They laughed together, as Mahad nervously turned around again, to make sure they weren't being followed. Something about him had _tugged _at Mahad, and had told him that he must get Atem away _now_. He couldn't understand why, but that boy had revealed himself to be very bad news. Magician's intuition, perhaps?

He wouldn't mind it. There were worse things than a street rat that could follow them, after all.

/

Pharaoh rose tiredly when the guard approached him. He was not himself today – he had not been himself for nearly a month now – but he could see the urgency in his servant's eyes.

The young guard looked wild-eyed with fear, though he was clearly struggling to keep his composure. "The prince..."

The king's eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

"The prince is gone. We have scoured the palace. The young apprentices too."

Akhenamkhanen's eyes widened, and to the everlasting shock of his court, he _swore_.

"Priests!" he barked. "Take a search party of ten soldiers each into the capital. Captains will scour the palace again, and the riverbank. _He will be found_, and the reason for his disappearance will be unveiled."

Nervous glances were exchanged, before the court sprang to life, in order to find young Atem before the festival began in earnest and where he was (rather, where he wasn't) was made known.

He was the only son. He must be brought back. The wrath of the Pharaoh could flood the very desert, if he so chose to, after all.

/

Mahad stood back a ways, to keep an eye on Atem and Mana as they splashed by the river's edge. Half of his attention was devoted to making sure neither went in deeper than their knees. The other half was counting up the offerings and prayers he would have to make later, to thank the river gods for keeping the crocodiles away.

The celebrations had brought most of the workers away from the Nile, and a tall patch of reeds hid the children from view.

"Half an hour," he'd said to Atem as the prince grabbed Mana's hand and they dashed towards the water. "And not past the bank, the Nile can be dangerous!"

"We'll be fine, Mahad!"

He could only sigh, and keep his attention on the young prince.

Mahad supposed this was practice for when Atem was king and he was a high priest. He would still be looking out for his friend then, and he would be much more capable of it. Of course, he hoped that when they were grown-ups and Atem was the Pharaoh, he would be much less foolish and not so bent on getting himself killed.

Mana ran into the rushes and a flock of ibises shot up, flapping away in irritation. _Sacred birds_, Mahad thought absently. _There's one good omen_. Mana laughed and laughed, calling to the birds and kicking up more water.

She turned and waved at her friend on the bank, and Mahad smiled faintly, walking further down the Nile. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Atem kicking water at Mana, and the girl shrieking and running back towards dry land.

The older boy peered over the reeds. There were a few women walking along the river, jugs of water on their heads. Some younger children playing by the river as Atem and Mana were. Other than that, they were relatively alone on this out-of-the-way riverbank.

And no crocodiles or other dangers sent their way yet, either. This was the thing that worried him the most, so long as the children played in the water.

Mahad climbed onto a rock jutting out of the bank, perching himself on top. Now he had a better view, and could even pay some attention to what was happening in the streets. The voices in the streets had grown fainter. He supposed people were leaving the Nile to get closer to the Pharaoh in the square. He felt a twinge of shame again, thinking of how badly they were betraying his trust.

As he sat there, an ominous, familiar feeling washed over Mahad, like the lapping of the river at Atem's feet. And when he turned, he realized the source, and had to stop himself from jumping up and ushering the others away from their play.

That boy. The street rat with the stringy white hair, and the cold, intelligent stare. Sitting cross-legged by the road, his chin in his hands. His eyes were on the Prince.

Mahad said nothing, giving the older boy a long, hard look. The peasant's eyes were not on him, but on Atem.

_Go away. Go away. Stop looking at him_.

He looked hungry, though not for food (but Mahad, of course, knew he must want that as well). His eyes raked the prince splashing in the waves, darting back and forth with each move he made.

_He isn't yours to look at. Go. Please._

But what could he _do_?

/

Prince.

That's what the other boy, the one who so diligently glared at him, had called the high-bred boy running back and forth with the girl. (A sister? A servant? He couldn't tell.)

No wonder Bakura had been drawn to him. The _prince of Egypt_ had been walking the capital's streets alone, in peasant clothes! It made him want to laugh wildly – what kind of foolish, coddled boy thought he could hide his upbringing and avoid harm, even for an afternoon?

The urge to laugh had quickly been replaced by anger. Hot white rage that Bakura had barely been able to contain. This spoiled, idiot boy knew nothing of the sins of his line, the suffering that Kul-Elna had endured because his father was a cruel, power-hungry monster.

But rage could be held back down. He would keep it for another day, when it could be useful.

Because Bakura, for some reason, had decided to do nothing but _watch_.

So here he sat, his eyes on the loud, commandeering Prince Atem. He took over every game between him and the girl, always making up the rules and always taking charge. It was clear he thought he was entitled to it.

Of course, it was difficult to hone more hatred of the royal family with the second boy staring him down. Finally, Bakura turned his head, matching the black gaze.

"And just what are _you _looking at?" he snarled, in the voice usually reserved for making a strong reputation, or for taking bread from someone less hardened.

To Bakura's amusement, he looked taken aback. He cleared his throat. "I could ask you the same question."

Bakura sniggered, and the younger boy looked even more nervous. So high-and-mighty, the voice of the prince's servant! Clearly, he hadn't left the palace often. The teenager shifted his position, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

"Just a future subject of your friend's, there," he replied. His voice had melted into something casual, indifferent. But his eyes were still hard as granite.

He thought the boy would jump from his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, Bakura could see that the prince's game had paused. He and the little girl were staring, so Bakura stared right back. The girl, unsurprisingly, looked away, at her feet. The little prince stood firm.

"Hey!" he called. "Hey! Why are you bothering him?"

"Atem, _no_..." he heard the prince's servant groan. They stood up at the same time, Bakura staying where he was, and the noble boy rushing to his prince's side. Typical. He put his hands on his hips. The boy talked to him like he could push him around. How very, very typical.

"I'm not," he replied easily. "I was only commenting that you're far from home, my prince."

The little girl gasped, and the older boy took a protective stance in front of her. The prince's eyes narrowed.

"How dare you question us! We are _far _above you, street rat." Atem – yes, that was his name – folded his arms over his chest. "Leave us now. Go beg somewhere else."

Bakura's hoarse laugh rang out. "Who said I was begging? If you are going to walk among your people, you must expect to interact with them."

He strolled to the riverbank, stopping when he was only a few feet from the prince. "You are acting foolish, and entitled to things you are not."

The other children had taken several steps back. "Prince, let's _go_-"

"Shut up, Mahad!" Atem shot back. "I'm dealing with him. I-" now, he addressed Bakura, "-am the morning and the evening star. I am entitled to _everything_."

Bakura was quiet for a long moment. The air hung thick with heat and tension.

This supposed prince could burn the city down, for all he cared. He had only proven to Bakura how soon the royals must be picked off, and how quickly he must bring Kul-Elna's darkness. But ... not today.

_Why not? _Something told him to do nothing, and so instead he turned to go. He could have pushed him into the river, easily, knocked out the boy and the girl, even splashed enough to lure a hippo or crocodile from the deep.

_Not today._

So he left.

Atem's hands balled into fists, eyes bright with anger. "Coward! You're lucky my father's troops aren't here!"

He would have followed, but for his companion's stronger hand holding him back. The girl began to cry. Bakura disappeared into the reeds.

The street rat wondered to himself why he had only taunted. He had never actually _killed _before, come to think of it. Only fought tooth and nail, planning between fights. Maybe he had had a moment of softness.

Or maybe it would just be more fun to kill him when he _was _Pharaoh. Then he could show all of Egypt where might god-kings had gotten them.

/

Mana was still crying, and Mahad was doing his best to drag them both home.

"_This _is what I meant by terrible things! We are going _now_, I should _never_ have let you take us here-"

Atem would not budge, actually dragging Mahad's feet along the river bottom as he tried to pull away from the other boy's grasp.

"We can finish our game first! Stop your blubbering, Mana, you're It, okay?"

The young prince scowled at her. "I said _stop_ it!"

More crying. He hissed with irritation, finally pulling away from Mahad and splashing further into the river. The hem of his tunic was wet now, and he was in nearly up to his waist.

Mahad tried to grab him again, but Atem was managing to stay out of his reach. "I _order_ you not to touch me, Mahad!" He flashed his princely, spoiled little grin. "So don't."

He was about to let go of Mana and go after Atem himself when there was a scream, and a great splash.

The horror that rose in Mahad's throat was like nothing he had ever felt, and against all better judgement he bolted towards Atem and the crocodile.

/

When he heard the commotion, Bakura turned around and looked back through the reeds.

Growing up outside palace walls, he knew full well what had happened. One of the children had gone too far out, and the river gods had chosen to punish them in the usual way.

Stepping quickly through the mud, his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the violent splashes, and the second boy running towards the figure struggling in the water. Served him right, being so foolish in the first place and walking too far out.

Bakura made his decision in a split second. He almost turned around and continued on. Almost. He had no connection to the prince. Besides his hate, of course. He should leave him to his end.

So Bakura knew he would agonize for years to come over why he dashed forward, into the deep water to grab Atem by the tunic. Shoving the other boy away and ignoring the girl's wails, Bakura kept a tight grip on the prince as he thrashed in the water.

It was over in seconds. The teenager somehow landed a sharp kick in the eye of the beast, and before any of them could react he was pulling Atem backwards, onto dry land.

Bakura, panting, sat down hard in the waves. The river was calm again.

He made no other move to help as the girl threw herself at the prince, and the boy scrambled out of the water to get to him. Atem's eyes were wide, and his hands were clasped tightly around his ankle. Blood was trickling into the water, but he made no indication that he was in pain.

His eyes were on Bakura.

The teenager stood up. He was soaking wet, and shaking slightly, though not from any fear or concern for the boy's safety. Why _was _he shaking, then?

"Atem, _please _let me see ... Oh, Ra ..."

"Prince! Prince! Are you okay? Say something!"

Atem answered neither of them, even as the boy pried his bloodied hands away to get a better look at the wound, and the girl sobbed, throwing her arms around him. He was still staring at Bakura, like he was the only person near him.

"Peasant. Why did you help me?"

His voice was low and hoarse. He must be in shock.

Bakura's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you figure that out for yourself? Your royal blood should indicate great wisdom and knowledge."

The prince's head gave the tiniest of shakes. Then Bakura turned to go, walking up the bank and down the path to the city like nothing had happened.

He stopped to sit by the road again, not caring about the sand sticking to his wet legs and clothes. He no longer wanted to go looking for a glimpse of the Pharaoh.

As it turned out, he wouldn't have to. Just minutes later, the king and all his priests came roaring down a main road, several dozen guards surrounding them all.

The youngest priest looked down at the bank from his horse, and Bakura saw him start and yell something to his colleagues.

He stayed long enough to watch the flurry of activity that followed. The Pharaoh sitting on his litter, watching his son be carried from the river with feigned indifference, the girl in the arms of a second guard and the other boy walking several steps behind. He looked utterly ashamed.

Nobody noticed the street rat as he finally stood up again, to slip back into the oblivious crowd. Nobody except Prince Atem, whose gaze stayed locked on Bakura for as long as he could manage it. He didn't even answer his father as the king called sharply to him.

Naturally, Bakura didn't acknowledge him, finally leaving the river for good. Hunger was gnawing at his belly again, worse than it usual. He hadn't exactly been stealing much today.

Maybe if he had to concentrate on that, he could forget the turmoil that had wracked his brain since running into the river and pulling the prince from his end.

_The opposite of all I've worked for. Why?_

Bakura heard more cheering. The Pharaoh's procession must be turning back. They would, of course, hide the prince and his injury from the public. It was bad fortune on such a celebrated day.

But he, Bakura, had prevented worse fortune for the royal family.

He scowled, shoving a small boy and girl out of his way. He'd think about it later. Hunger was the only thing that could surpass the royal family in his mind.

/

Everything that could've gone wrong, did.

Atem was quiet, sitting in bed and picking at his plain dinner. He was missing the celebration as part of his punishment, and so were Mahad and Mana. Two guards were posted right outside of his chambers.

"None of you are to be trusted alone until I deem it so – trusted with anything, really." Father had looked so sad when he'd told them.

Atem had not even been able to form an excuse, a formal apology, anything. He had only looked at the ground and replied in a whisper. "I'm sorry, Father."

He and Mahad both would be getting a thrashing, as soon as his wound had healed up. The physicians could not understand how Atem had escaped worse injury than some deep cuts.

Not one child had told them why.

Atem sighed, putting his food aside and falling back onto his pillow. Mahad had been right. He should've known.

He hadn't been able to muster his usual fire, the begging and pleading that usually lessened his punishments only to quiet him. Shame was a new feeling for the prince. A very adult one.

And the boy that had followed them, then pulled him back from the jaws of the crocodile. He tried not to dwell on him too much. Who he was, and where he'd come from ... for some reason, thinking about those questions made Atem's heart cold. He couldn't understand why.

He made a small, agitated sound, and rolled over to try and sleep.

/

He'd caught a glimpse of that dirty white hair again, as Pharaoh had marched them home to the palace.

Mahad had paid little attention at the time, but when he'd been brought to his room under guard, and given time to think, he'd realized who it was and the cold suspicion had washed over him again.

Atem would meet this boy again. His heart and the gods were telling him so.

And despite everything, Mahad dreaded the day.


End file.
